During The War
by Hopetabby
Summary: It starts during the war...but it is just that: A war. There is no time for love. The fool and the butterfly are constantly chasing each other, arms outreached and hands splayed to catch the other- but each time only managing to ruffle the other's uniform.
1. Entries I & II

Entry:

I

Allen Walker is a clown blinded by love: The knives he's juggling are cutting through his deductions.

It started from the second he arrived at the Order. He had immediately noticed her beautiful brown- almost black- eyes that seemed to reflect as a deep shade of purple to all those around her. Her smile, her caring for others, her ladylike attitude. He wasn't even going to mention her strong will.

But if it was love, why was it that everytime he found himself thinking of her he felt upset? Why was it that he pushed all thought of her out of his head?

Perhaps he was just nervous; love was a fairly new experience for the child. Maybe he was scared of her brother, who would surely destroy the whole building in his rage. Could it be the Fourteenth? He didn't want to drag her into that mess. She would surely be suspected, and-

And he knew it was none of those. Defenses and excuses were his specialty, his only way of protecting the world from himself, himself from the world. Even his own mind could not be spared from the flurry of reasons and justifications he threw its way.

In the end, he decided, it was completely out of his control. Through no fault of his own. For what is one to do when the world is crumbling down around them? When they are the only ones who can stop this destruction? It starts during the war, a hopeless place for love. There are no survivors to love, there is no opportunity for selfish desires, and there is no reason to feel. In a war, there is no time for love.

 _'Perhaps'_ , he thinks, _'I am worried that I will disappoint her.'_ The thought is quickly pushed out of his head. Not because it's about her, but because it is too close to the truth. Allen Walker is a child helpless to the effects of love, and everyone knows that children are perpetual liars until taught differently.

All this as he lays back in bed that night, ice crystallizing on the window above him. Blankets rustle as Link shifts on the other side of the room, and Timcanpy's tail curls tightly around Allen's shoulder. The blankets are silky soft where his fingers grasp the edges, and the pillow is a foreign comfort underneath his head. He thinks he realises something.

 _'In a war, there is no time for love.'_

* * *

Entry:

II

Lenalee's conviction has been smashed into smithereens, courtesy of love's Dark Boots.

It starts during the war, in the weeks following his arrival at the Black Order. She is destined to notice those striking silver-gray eyes. Fated to see through his carefully crafted facade; the facade crafted to wrap a white fluffy blanket around those gripped with fear. The facade that had gradually become her lifeline.

He becomes a part of the puzzle.

Whether she wanted it or not, every time she fought, his smile made its way into her thoughts. When she was lying in the rain, sprawled out in the street because of that one innocent life- his smile, his comfort, covered her like an umbrella to shield her from the downpour.

It didn't matter that she knew it was fake. A part of her was convinced it wasn't about the facade; convinced that maybe it was just the comfort of knowing he was there...

Stop, Lenalee. The Holy War is an angelic light that devours any chance you may stupidly think you have.

 _'Perhaps'_ , she thinks, _'this is simply a game of fools'_. Truthfully, that is the closest she has come to unraveling the mystery love presents. A puzzle piece is knocked off the desk. It falls with a small clack. Her eyes follow it down to the floor, and she swears it pleads with her to save it. 'Cherish me!', it calls. The gray-blue piece reminds her of the sky. Reminds her of-

The ice on the bedroom's window is becoming fractals that reflect tears as she reaches down to gently caress the piece into her hand. Her thumb and index finger fondle it for a moment.

It starts during the war, a hopeless puzzle missing so many pieces it is never solved. It is just that, a war that is falling apart. There are no survivors to love, no pieces to add. There is no opportunity for selfish desires, there is no reason to feel. In a war, there is no time for love's jigsaw.

 _'In a war, there is no time for love.'_

* * *

A/N:

Wrote this whole piece while listening to "Waste It On Me" for the first time when it came out a few months(?) ago. I have been constantly editing and tweaking this since then and I'm finally happy with it! As for calling the two parts 'entries', I wanted this to seem like someone is documenting their story- like a Bookman. Hopefully you love it!

Also, for all my 21st Century Mission fans: I will be updating soon. I have been taking some time for the holidays away from serious writing, and also I'm trying to make sure I get a few chapters ahead to prevent plot holes.

Happy New Year!

-Hopetabby


	2. Entry III

**Entry** _ **:**_

 **III**

The building shakes with the force of the storm outside, but aside from the muffled wind beating against the windows, the halls are quiet. Lightning flashes, illuminating the surrounding forests and causing the ice crystallized on the windows to glow and gleam.

In the flash of light, a young girl watches with rapt attention as her tears follow a gray-blue puzzle piece descending to the ground. The cool tile that brushes her hand when she picks up the piece barely registers in her now foggy mind.

The dream that had haunted her nights for months comes to mind. Those dead, murky gray eyes looking up at her, the white and black moon reflecting on the water, engulfing the crushed remains of the Priestly Order.

Faint sobs wrack her delicate frame.

It started with a nightmare.

Unrestrained gasps ring through the room as the boy tries desperately to get a hold of himself, clutching his chest as the freezing-rain beats against the iced windows. His throat feels tight, and tears prick his eyes. Lightning flashes somewhere in the raging storm and he flinches, breaking out of his stupor. He watches as the shining tears drip from his eyes.

He drags himself from the comfort of his bed, hearing his roomate shift. The fluffiness and warmth from his black robe is a welcome comfort. The door creaks softly as he slinks into the darkly lit halls. All that he can bring himself to think of is a cup of warm, calming water.

It continued with the pitter-patter of footsteps.

Dimmed lights flicker as she walks through the halls, well worn slippers loosely slipped on her small feet, and a modest, long-sleeved nightgown the only things between her and the chilled air of the Black Order.

The horrifying dream plays through- once, twice, three times. The rusted and crumbled remains of her home, the blood rivers, the boy in her lap, dead and cold eyes staring at her with soul searching intensity. " _How could you let this happen?_ " the voice in the back of her head questions her and it takes her everything just to keep from-

Her bottom lip is sore and swollen from where she has bitten it to keep from crying.

Pit- pat.

Pit. Pat.

Pit, pat.

Pit- thump.

The clicking of her footsteps stops abruptly as she looks up to see one of the reasons for her distress slumped against a wall, ringing his hands through his hair. She weakly thinks he looks frustrated.

"Would you like to join me?"

It was followed by the bubbling of a warm drink.

The heat radiating from her slender form is enough for him to forget gentlemanly pretenses and scoot closer to her under the knitted blanket. The bubbling of the steaming hot drinks in their hands combine with the sound of relaxed breaths to make a symphony of comfort.

They watch, on the cusp of sleep and wake as the raindrops outside the looming windows turn to flurries of snowflakes and fall gracefully to the ground many feet below. Neither talks, in a silence that is friendly, tense, and confused all at the same. A long time, it stays that way, before she finally whispers.

The sound seems to boom in the abandoned library and their relieved and excited chatter begins to fill the large space. They laugh at each other's quick responses and quips.

 _The storm begins to calm._

Soon the only feeling in the room is warmth. The only smell is of cold tea. The only sound is the mumblings of sleep from the two exorcists curled up on the couch in the still library.

It ends with the clinking of mugs being carried away, and the faint scene of a relationship undergoing a noticeable change.

When Lenalee wakes, the boy at her side has gone, and the sun is just rising over distant mountains.

 _January 1st, 18XX_


End file.
